Old Wounds
by smilelikey0umeanit
Summary: Some old wounds never truly heal. (Set following 'Objects of Desire'. Slight Sherry. Reviews welcome as always!)


_**A/N: Set after 'Objects of Desire,' series eight. Apologies if you're waiting for the next instalment of Under The Bridge. This one has been bugging me, and hence has turned into a bit of a behemoth. Take it as an early Christmas present from me. ;-)**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own New Tricks.**_

"Sandra?"

"Yes Gerald?" she sighed wearily, maintaining her stare into her wine glass.

He paused before broaching the question, considering how to phrase it. He of all people knew that she needed to be handled delicately when she was like this. Although, she was doing a better job than usual of masking her feelings, he had been surprised when she'd agreed to his proposition of a quiet drink. "What happened, you know, with you an' him?"

She looked up slowly, meeting his eyes with her own. He couldn't help but to notice the shadows around them. Today had taken it out of her. He waited patiently as she closed her eyes, leant back in her chair and exhaled slowly, obviously mentally preparing herself for what she was about to reveal to him. He felt privileged, in a way, that she felt that she could confide in him. Sandra Pullman was certainly not one for wearing her heart on her sleeve.

Finally she sat up, opening her eyes. They were bluer than before, more intense as she faced him directly. She mirrored his position, sitting up straight and holding her drink. She too paused before speaking, trying to pre-empt his reaction.

"Look. Before you start having a go and threatening to hunt him down, it was a long time ago, and I'm over it, don't worry. Honestly."

She'd decided to go on the defensive, then. "You don't bloody look like you're over it to me,"

She held a finger up to silence him. "What did I say? It's all in the past, it can't be changed now. Today has just reopened some old wounds, that's all."

He nodded. "It must have been bad, then? You usually keep your old wounds stitched up,"

She smiled, that beautiful little half-smile of hers. "Most of them have healed now. This one…not quite. Especially not after all this."

"It takes time," he replied, reliving his own experiences. Both he and the woman sitting opposite him knew that he was far from the tough guy where his exes were concerned.

"It certainly does," she agreed, her voice taking on a nostalgic tone. She looked exhausted, yet somewhat contemplative. "So you really want to know, then?"

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't, would I? He took the sarcasm out of the remark with a typical cheeky grin, and she rolled her eyes in response.

"It started when I was in the murder squad with Jack. I was his DI at the time, it was one of the first murder cases that I took a lead role in. An art dealer was found dead in his own studio, we thought it was suicide at first but then we found that the blood pattern on one of the paintings behind him had come from an angle which meant that he couldn't have done it himself. Plus the fact that he had a wife and two month old baby at home, who he obviously loved. Anyway, the painting he was working on before he died, it had this strange symbol in the corner that was completely out of place, we didn't know whether he'd done it or the killer had, and there were no fingerprints or anything. That was where James came in. I was in charge of liaising with the art squad, and, well you know, one thing lead to another." She stopped suddenly, searching his eyes to detect his reaction.

To be honest, he was interested in anything to do with her past, she was a bit of an enigma except for all that stuff about her dad. He was aware that Jack probably knew more than him or Brian, but he didn't like to pry. Besides, it wasn't Jack's story to tell. She was still looking at him anxiously, unsure of how he would feel.

"Sandra, I ain't here to judge you. I just want to understand why you're feeling how you're feeling, that's all."

"I know, I just…I've made a lot of mistakes over the years. A lot of them I've never told anyone about."

"We all make mistakes, Sandra, we wouldn't be human if we didn't. Finish what you have to say and then we'll see whether it was a mistake or not."

"Oh it was. Trust me. Anyway, we got together properly over the summer and it was…good. Really good. He told me pretty much from the start that he was still technically married, but that he was estranged from his wife, and that she'd taken his children with her. I guess I just accepted it because I'd only got divorced the previous year, I knew what it was like in that sort of transitory phase where you're waiting for the divorce to come through and all that,"

"I understand that better than anyone," he chuckled, and her face softened slightly.

"So yeah, we just carried on, I think we were together for about eighteen months in total. In hindsight I should have noticed all the little things but…that's hindsight I suppose. One day, I was waiting in a bar for him to meet me for a drink and I felt this tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there was this woman with just a look of utter disappointment in her eyes, I don't think I've ever seen anyone as crushed as she looked." She took a deep breath, her speech beginning to get quicker as she reached the climax of her tale.

"She asked me what my name was, I told her, then James showed up and saw us both. Obviously, he was shocked, I mean, he never expected us to meet, and she just said, "I thought you loved me" and walked out. He just looked at me, then ran after her. I'd seen the wedding ring on her finger, I vaguely knew what she looked like from what he'd told me…I figured out what was going on pretty quickly after that. The next day, he came to see me and told me everything; he'd never started the divorce proceedings, in fact, they'd never actually split up. He'd basically been leading a double life for the past eighteen months, balancing me, her and the kids. Bastard." She took a gulp of her wine, placing it back on the table heavily.

"I told him I never wanted to see him again, and that was that. Until the other week when he called out of the blue with the case."

He remained in silence for a while, partly waiting for her resurfaced anger to dissipate and partly processing the information. She really had been through it. He waited as she drank the rest of her wine.

"Go on then," she opened after she had finished her drink, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "Ask away."

He had so many questions; she'd never really opened up to him like this before. "Why did you agree to meet him when he rang after all these years?"

"I don't know, I suppose I was just…curious, perhaps. Maybe a part of me hoped we could make it work, now that he's divorced." She snorted. "I must be deluded."

He was beginning to worry about her. He didn't like the bitter tone she had suddenly taken on, probably due to the wine she had just rapidly consumed. Still, he couldn't blame her- he'd be more than pissed off if that happened to one of his girls.

"You're not deluded, far from it, you're just…an optimist, I suppose. I can tell that you had feelings for him, you can't just turn them off."

She snorted again. "Me. An optimist. Never thought I'd be called that. Your unwavering faith in true love must be catching, Gerald."

"Maybe," he replied, having a mental debate with himself whether or not to ask the question that was bothering him the most. Bugger it, he was only going to get one chance, he might as well take it. She was fairly drunk, hopefully she wouldn't remember in the morning and the chance of his head being mounted on a stake in the Met car park would be drastically reduced.

"Did you love him? James, I mean."

She froze in a tableau that was almost comical, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, her right arm raised in mid-air where she had been pushing back her hair from her face.

"Does it matter if I did?" she asked slowly, lowering her arm steadily.

"I'll take that as a yes then." He retorted, having pre-empted the fact that she would never just give a straight yes or no answer.

She slumped back in her chair. He took the fact that she wasn't even bothering to protest as a sign that she did indeed love the prize twat that was James Larson, and that was all he needed to know.

"Come on, let's get you home, you look bloody knackered."

"Thank you, Gerald. You're a surprisingly good listener when you want to be, you know, you should use that skill more often."

"Alright, alright, I'll take that as a half-compliment. Let's go."

And with that, they walked arm-in-arm into the cool November air, leaving behind all thought of the past.


End file.
